Heading North through Sandscapes

Was Bin Laden hiding here? (Click on to enlarge, back arrow to return)

After the sandstorm put us off desert camping we decided to start heading north. Hindsight is 20/20 – we should have stayed where we were because now (March 23) we’re North of Meknes freezing our butts off! A bit about the trip north ….

Back up the Vallee de Draa and a right turn onto a secondary road. We saw crested waves of windswept, treeless, flat-top green rock hills. The green comes, not from vegetation, but from minerals in the rock – most likely copper? On the other side of the road were big pink sandstone outcroppings on the rolling rocky green plain with  black and beige hills behind them. It was midday so not a good time for photos.

We stopped for lunch in a place called Anif. Our expectations were low because Anif was a tiny dot in a very small font. The main junction was crowded with tour buses so we went down the road a bit and chose a place that looked deserted. We walked in … ‘Hello?’,   ‘Bonjour?’,   ‘Hello?’ … just about to leave when a guy came and seated us at a table outside three feet from the road.  Long story short – excellent chicken brochette and almost no traffic! As we were eating, a bunch of businessmen came out and got into 4x4’s and drove off. ‘Where did they come from?’ After lunch I discovered a huge meeting/wedding/conference room, hotel bedrooms and loos upstairs. A very happening kinda place!

Spot the coffee!

Two long distance bicyclists showed up looking for accommodation. They were from ‘Canary Icelands’. (I guess the ‘s’  in island is confusing for non English speakers.) One of the cyclists told me about his dream to cycle from Alaska to Mexico and asked me about the best time to do a trip like that. As if I’d have a clue!

There were lots of decals for cycle races on the restaurant/hotel windows. Even one from Deloitte. The  owner of the establishment chatted away with me about Vancouver and the 2010 Olympics. He was very proud of the fact that a Moroccan (albeit a resident of France) won a medal.

As we were about to leave he was chatting with a couple of friends who were walking by – a young man and an old-ish, traditional looking woman. He asked us if we were going to Tenghir. Yes. Would you give Madame a lift?  She got in and shook hands with us.  She was the third hard working woman that I shook hands with. Dry doesn’t come close to the texture of their hands. They are accustomed to using henna, not in pretty patterns, but full coverage so the dark palms are a surprise. But the hardness and strength!

Madame stayed silent in the back and so I thought I’d try to make small talk – in French. No way, Josie. She spoke Berber louder and louder thinking we’d catch on. Then she gave up and gurgled something under her breath .

She adjusted her black veil around her face and made a noise (funny how words you don’t understand are simply noise) to indicate she had arrived where she wanted to go. She got out and blended with the crowd of other black veiled women. Then a man appeared at our window thanking us for ‘taking care of the sister of my mother’. Shokran, shokran.’ and much touching of his heart. I think there was an offer of mint tea but we were gone!

Well-pruned orchard

Gorge Time

There are three gorges in the area Southeast of Marrakesh – the Dades Gorge, the Todra gorge and the Ziz gorge. Water flows through each of them and although the available cultivatable space is narrow and hard to work there isn’t a square inch that isn’t growing something to eat. In a few spots we saw men wielding heavy wide hoes tilling the earth in readiness for planting. Even if they did have a horse and  a plough they probably couldn’t get them into the small spaces.

The gorges reminded me of Utah the difference being that they are filled with people and the houses are built on the edges of the gorges. In the event of an earthquake they would tumble into the river below.

Reeds are used in construction. Long stalks are laid down horizontally, tightly side by side to form a base then concrete is spread over them. We saw the cut ends of the reeds like pan pipes peeking out under the concrete and the roof tiles.

We stopped for coffee in Tinghir before heading up into the Todra Gorge. The brand of coffee I like is called Carrion which doesn’t seem a good name for anything you’d want to swallow!

The Todra Gorge is spectacular. At one point we drove between cliffs about 200 feet high on both sides. Naturally there were carpet salesmen lined up against the cliff face! Beyond the carpets the gorge opened up and we saw some rock climbers with an instructor showing them the ropes!

We kept going north. We had conflicting stories about the quality of the road but the consistent advice was that if there is water you can’t pass. Up, up, up into the High Eastern Atlas. It seems deserted but we always saw a few people grazing a few goats and sheep. Who knows what the livestock are eating!? There are sharp, jagged rocks everywhere.

There was water on the road in several places where the river crosses the road. It was only 3 – 4 inches deep. The flat-roofed, one story mud houses with small windows and ornate metal grilles looked deserted. I think if you don’t need to be outside working you stay inside out of the wind.

Castles Made of Sand

A constant sight amidst all the barrenness was the red and white mecchano-like fifty foot telecommunication towers. It seemed there was one on every hilltop and knoll in southern Morocco. When we picked up the camel-herder cum carpet salesman we were surprised to see him pull his cell phone out from the depths of his blue robe. We asked him if he had an email address where we could send him some photos. He laughed and said something about being a nomad and having a cell phone was as tech-y as he was going to get. The nephew of the hard-handed woman knew we were coming because he got a call to expect us.

After Midelt we knew we were getting out of the desert. Cows, black and white dogs, pine and juniper. The dogs were so cool just sitting on the verge of the road eying everything that went by. Up, up, up onto a plateau and no more trees just swampy green land and some snow patches then rocks, rocks, rocks with bits of grass in between.

We picked up a young boy with a school bag. I tried to speak to him in French but all he said was ‘a l’ecole’. It seemed to us that we were far from a school but at a small road he asked to get out and someone was waiting for him. Then we picked up a man with Parkinson’s and he got out at the Ifrane Ski School!!